


Artistic Endearment

by pleasesayitsnotso



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Admiration, Cute, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Funny, Humour, Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 13:21:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2026620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleasesayitsnotso/pseuds/pleasesayitsnotso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ones shot: On a Sunday morning Natasha observes Steve as he paints, and teases him too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Artistic Endearment

_“But you've slipped under my skin, invaded my blood and seized my heart.”_

_― Maria V. Snyder_

* * *

 

 Natasha awoke to find that the bed she shared with Steve had procured an empty and vast expanse that would usually have been occupied by the sleeping soldier. Glancing at the clock beside her bed she noted that it was 9:30am, despite the fact it was a Sunday Steve always seemed to be up early, another contrast in their characteristics, Steve was undecidedly a morning person, Natasha not so much. Rubbing the lingering mist of sleep from her eyes she managed to drag her body from its comfortable arrangement. Scouring the room still under the haze of a morning daze, she identified a grey t-shirt of Steve’s and grabbing it she pulled it over her head. As the soft cotton fabric glided over her arms and encased her voluptuous and powerful figure, she inhaled deeply basking in the musky, masculine scent of Steve. Natasha would never admit it out loud, but she loved wearing Steve’s clothes, especially when he was absent. She felt, however, that it was the kind of behaviour usually exhibited by besotted, pathetic teenage girls; therefore she kept the satisfaction of this fond habit to herself. Steve, however, silently knew about it as frequently he would pull on an item of clothing and find it laced with the familiar feminine and alluring scent of her perfume and he’d smile to himself, knowing that the woman he adored had previously worn whatever item of clothing he was now sporting.

 Slowly she made her way to the kitchen, and upon entering it she squinted against the bright morning light that pounded through the windows and flooded the room in a glaring glaze of white. When her eyes had finally adjusted to this painful assault, she saw that Steve was stood at his easel, paint brush in hand, topless wearing a pair of navy blue sweatpants. His azure eyes were sparkling with inspiration and swam across the canvas; she observed how his features shifted constantly in conjunction with every thought and idea that crossed the soldiers mind. She treasured how his lips would shift from a concentrated pout, a puzzled smirk, to a contented smile that allowed two dimples to appear, that could coax a besotted sigh from the infatuated spy. He was so deep in concentration that he failed to note Natasha’s presence, so she jumped up onto the kitchen counter perching herself on the edge and watched the handsome artist at work. She became entranced by the way his muscles contracted and rippled as he moved, the way his body displayed attractive curves and undulations, a man in perfect condition, an Adonis. Her Adonis. At that thought a smirk crept across her lips, and she felt a swell of emotion push against her chest, pulling her towards the soldier before her, however she subdued the feeling that burned within her and dragged her hand through her tousled crimson curls, as if to shake off the remnants of her feelings. That motion was enough to entice Steve from his creative trance, pulling his eyes towards the attractive spy perched on his kitchen counter; a wide smile graced his lips as he looked over at her. Placing his paintbrush back in its water pot he made his way over to her placing himself in front of her, her long legs hung either side of his hips, and placing his hands gently on the top of her thighs he greeted her,

“Good morning.” Before leaning forward to place a chaste kiss to her forehead, she allows her eyes to fall shut revelling in the close proximity to him and the feel of his soft lips on her skin. Withdrawing from her their eyes meet, and she places her hands softly either side of his torso not pulling him towards her but letting him know that she wants him close, she needs him close. Looking up at him she realises this is the ideal opportunity to tease him about his lack of t-shirt,

“Seriously Steve, topless painting? How very modern of you.” A playful smirk plays on her lips, and her eyes glint with cheek, making her positively glow. Despite it usually being at his expense Steve loves this expression on her, although he would never tell her, she doesn’t need any more encouragement. Allowing a genial laugh to escape, one eyebrow raises up as he responds,

“Well you look a lot better in the t-shirt than me, so I feel it was the right choice.” This coaxes a rare laugh from Natasha; however he sees her eye flicker slightly across his face inducing an outpour of delightful laughter. This amusement is further enhanced when a puzzled and confused frown adorns his face,

“Come here you...” At her command he leans forward towards her and with her thumb she brushes at the contour of his cheek, removing a smear of green paint that had found its way onto his face. Withdrawing her thumb she shows the puzzled soldier its new colour, before declaring,

 **“Without me Rogers, you’d be a mess.”** She accompanies this with a warm smirk, which entices a look of adoration and a smile of the utmost affection from Steve, before he leans forward placing his lips upon hers. His hands move from the comfortable place on her thighs to cup her face pulling her closer to him, whilst her hands slide from the sides of his torso to his back, her petite hands pawing at the large smooth region of his back. Buried within the passion and heat of the kiss is the unspoken fear and realisation of Natasha Romanoff: **She would be a mess without him**.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading I hope you enjoyed it, please review I want to know what you think.


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